


Ransomed

by KelAlannan



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Happily Ever After, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-03 18:00:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12151887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelAlannan/pseuds/KelAlannan
Summary: Maybe he's hallucinating, maybe he's still mad, but Thomas takes a leap of faith when the ship transporting him to the colonies is set upon by pirates.





	1. The Taking

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this immediately after seeing Season 2 (okay, and I may have hopped forward to the finale reunion) so this generally follows that canon. With the exception that I kept Eleanor in Nassau because I feel like her and Thomas would get along famously.

Thomas Hamilton -- or Tom Hampton, as he was written in the ship register -- stood at the rail, drinking in the fresh salt air. The air of Bethlem, which was all he had tasted for the last seven years, had been stale and heavy with pain. The lively wind and the breadth of an uninterrupted horizon made Thomas feel more like a human than he had in a long time. 

Behind him somewhere lurked Mr. Thorn, a representative of a "restorative retreat" in the colonies who had, paid for by the Lord Alfred Hamilton, he assumed, collected him for removal from Bethlem. Thomas had studiously ignored him the whole voyage so far with all the arrogance the nobility had taught him. Once they were back on land, he knew he'd be drugged with all the potions of that nightmare hospital for "safe" removal. There was no need here, for where could he go?

So Thomas spent this time reclaiming his humanity. There had been no place in Bethlem for dignity, honor, courage, love-- all the things he had had when he was Lord Hamilton. The latter of those he had had in spades and it hurt to think of it, so he tried not to. In his conscious mind, anyway. Even the nightmares of Bedlam couldn't erase the sweet dreams of sweet smiles that still occasionally taunted him in the night. 

"SAIL!" A voice cried from above Thomas' head. 

He turned away from the port rail and saw the captain of the merchant ship standing on the quarterdeck with his eyeglass trained on the opposite horizon. He ambled forward, just out of the way of the sailors' bustle. He was close enough to see the captain blanch. "Flint..."

"Beg pardon, sir?"

"The ship flies the flag of Captain Flint, a most infamous pirate of Nassau." Thomas experienced a pang of irony, that he would be fleeing before a man he had sought a pardon for. 

"Can we outrun them, Captain?"

"Come about to 235, if you please, Mr. Bonden!" he called to the man at the helm. "Raise tops'ls!" and a series of men ran to the rails and began scrambling up the ratlines, into the shrouds. "Pray it's so, Mr. Hampton." Thomas thought he did not look optimistic. 

An hour later, it looked like his fears were not unfounded. Despite spreading every inch of canvas, the ship, which Thomas now saw had a large black flag with a white skeleton on it, was closing in. Suddenly, a roar sounded across the water and a splash nearby indicated that they had opened cannonfire against the merchant ship. Another roar and a great snapping, like branches suddenly separated from their tree. A ball had put a hole in the mainsail, snapping lines around it. 

The captain was sweating. "Strike sails," he called reluctantly. The bosun's whistle echoed the order. 

"Insurance will cover any goods they take," Mr. Thorn murmured in Thomas' ear. "Just lay low, do as they say."

The crew lined the far rail as the pirate ship, with its complement at the rail, silently approached. The captain waited on the foredeck with the ship register in hand. It felt like the terrible calm before a storm. 

Suddenly noise erupted. Ropes and hooks flew over the rail and the boarding party swarmed onto the ship. "Down!" "Get down!" "Bellies to the deck, heads down!" the pirates shouted. The merchant sailors and passengers obeyed. 

There was a lull in the noise and Thomas heard the footsteps of pirates making their ways around the surrendered men. 

"I am Captain Jenks of the _Eliza Hart_ , sir. Here is our register of cargo and souls on board."

"Thank you, Captain. You know who I am?"

Lord Almighty, Thomas knew that voice. He hadn't heard it in years except in those dreams unpoisoned. He picked his head up briefly, but he couldn't see the men. His mind raced. 

"Yes, Captain Flint." The captain's voice sounded afraid. 

"Then I won't expect any trouble from you or your men, will I?"

Thomas raised his head back up again and called to a nearby pirate, "Your attention, sir."

Footsteps paused, then approached. "What would you want?" a rough French-accented voice demanded. 

"If you would let your captain know I would have words with him."

The resulting laugh was nasty. "Begging for your life before he even looks at you?"

Thomas remained as calm as his hammering heart would allow. What would he do if he was wrong? "If you'd please. I can make it worth his while."

The footsteps retreated and he heard the low murmur of voices. Then: "Bring him." It had to be. Or maybe Thomas really had gone crazy in Bethlem. 

Hands soon wrenched at his arms, hauling him to his feet. He picked his head up and saw their Captain Flint was looking to see who this passenger requesting an audience would be. Their eyes met and it was his James, with his beautiful red hair and now a full beard to match, looking as stem as if he had not smiled for years. Realization struck the man opposite at the same time and he blinked several times, as if not quite convinced he wasn't looking at a mirage. 

Thomas was half-dragged before him and despite wanting to reach for his lover and say his name for the first time in what felt like forever, he needed to beat James to words. 

"Sir, I only ask that you not treat this ship harshly, in light of her captain's cooperation."

James' eyes refused to leave his and he could almost see the wheels turning behind them. "I make no assurances."

"Are you a man of honor, sir?"

"Get to the point and we will see." It felt like they were back in Thomas' house in London, battling wits. 

"I think I can provide you with a further prize, if you give your assurances that this ship, her captain, and her crew are released unharmed."

"This prize?"

"Your assurance, Captain," he demanded in a still friendly tone. Growing up in the Royal Navy meant that James could always hide thought and emotion from his face. Thomas, who had thought he could read the small cues better than most, found that the man had grown more opaque with the years between them. He thought James must think him mad. It would almost be funny, given that the last two months were the first in which he was not mad. 

"If this prize is adequate, I will release this ship and its complement unharmed." The mask of unemotion was beginning to crack and Thomas saw the urge to action there. Good Lord above, he wanted to answer it. But years ago he had been a lord with expertise in dissembling in public. If he could be that Thomas for a little while, he thought they could pull this off. 

He slid his solid gold signet ring off his finger. "This is the signet of an influential family in Parliament to which I belong. My father would pay handsomely to see me restored on my way to the colonies."

James appeared to consider, though his eyes still bored into Thomas' own. Once Thomas and Miranda had pulled Lieutenant McGraw out of his shell, he had loved as passionately as he fought. But his eyes had never held this intensity and even in this situation, it made Thomas' blood quicken. 

"I accept your terms." To a man standing behind his shoulder, he directed, "Bring in the goods. Captain and crew are to remain unharmed." Thomas thought he saw Captain Jenks slump with relief before the pirate took the register from him. He threw a worried look Thomas' way, which he returned a confident nod to. 

"I would know your name, if I'm to send a ransom request." James' voice was gravelly; Thomas could see the question sounding dangerous to another man. But when he turned back to this pirate captain, he couldn't find anything to fear there.

"Tom McGraw, sir. Your servant." He didn't expect the pang of pain that shuttered James' face. He wondered how long it had been since he had heard that name. He wondered how long it had been since he had been McGraw. 

"Onto the ship, then," he rallied, grasping Thomas by the arm and leading him away. As they approached the rails and Thomas considered the gap of water he was to climb suspended over, James moved closer to say low in his ear, "Carefully, now, my lord."

There was his James. 

Somehow Thomas made it across; his body was not bred to nor accustomed to the sailing life. In a trance, he followed James past the confused and sometimes hostile faces of his crew. Thomas kept his gaze fixed on James' back in black leather. It may not have been his handsome naval uniform, but his shoulders still looked well in it. 

"In here," James directed, opening a cabin door. It was spacious inside, which was all he could take in before the door shut behind him and his James was crying out, "Thomas—!"

"I am here, dearest one." James was suddenly in his arms, clinging to him. Thomas held him just as tightly. "I'm still not sure I won't wake up to find this all another torturous dream of Bethlem, but for now, I am here."

James' shoulder smelled like salt where Thomas buried his face. It reminded him of their first embrace when Lieutenant McGraw returned from his three months in the Bahamas. "But what is three months, compared to seven years?" he murmured. 

James' chuckle was wet. "It felt like twice as long." His hands were on Thomas' shoulders then, easing him back. Then they were on either side of his face and pulling him in for a crushing kiss. If Thomas needed any proof that the pirate captain was no longer his reserved, wondering lover, it was here. But he couldn't care because no matter how either of them had changed, they were clearly still each other's. 

"I have thought of you every day," James said upon pulling back for air. "Everything I have done, my position here, has been for you." His voice grew fierce, triumphant. "They could cut you down but I would remake the world in your image!" 

"Hush, dearest." Thomas kissed where water had begun to track down his cheeks. "Hush." His body was not strong after Bethlem and he began to sag. "If I may--"

In a moment, James had whisked him over to his bed and laid him down. No muscle atrophy there, Thomas noted, distantly pleased. He'd always loved watching the movement of James' hard earned muscle under his skin. 

"Miranda...?" Thomas asked quietly. 

James sank to his knees beside his own bed. "I'm sorry, Thomas, I failed you in that. We had each other until the end, but.... It is a long story."

"I see." He stared at the ship beams above his head. Lord knew his wife was a singular creature. Not that he had expected to see either of his loved ones again but the confirmation was still difficult to process. He blinked back some superfluous water standing in his eyes. 

"Rest now." James stood and placed a hand softly on his head. "I have duties to attend to elsewhere." He turned and exited the cabin towards the top deck. 

Thomas was not ashamed to admit he cried, alone in the stateroom. Him free. Miranda dead. James alive. James _here_. 

He was eventually exhausted into a deep sleep 

When he awoke, he was alone. He tasted the bitter despair that it had all been yet another dream. And yet...

The ceiling beams were different. When he turned his head, he saw a desk piled with papers. And beyond it, a library. From despair, his heart now soared. His state room on the _Eliza Hart_ hadn't looked like its passengers had ever seen a book. 

Thomas swung his legs over the side of the bed and eased himself to his feet. The captain's desk—James' desk—was just there and was far too tempting to leave unruffled. Books, charts, ship logbooks. His logbook. This, Thomas would read. But first, he was intolerably hungry. 

He opened the cabin door and closed it behind him. Several men were standing along a nearby wall and ceased their discussion to stare at him. He nodded to them gravely. "Would one of you gentlemen be so kind as to direct me to the galley?" He assumed pirate ships had a cook; they'd need to eat too. Or perhaps they did subsist on grog alone, as one storytelling sailor had intimated. 

"This way," one man grunted, stalking off. Thomas followed him through the ill-lit ship and there found the galley. A man with a head of loose dark curls was bent over the stove. Thomas' guide had disappeared. 

Thomas cleared his throat and the head spun round. Thomas smiled at the young man, who was staring at him with frank curiosity. "Is there a chance of any vittles being available?"

"Tonight's fish won't be ready for some time, but there's some tack. And what stew this lot managed to leave untouched. I'm John Silver, by the way."

"Thomas McGraw. Thank you for your generosity." 

Thomas found himself before long sitting on a bench beside the galley, barely touching his spoon as he scooped up a fishy, but hearty, stew. The cook was still regarding him. "Are you sure you're a lord's son? You don't look nearly well fed enough." 

"I've been ill." Thomas meet Silver's gaze frankly. There was a spark of intelligence behind the curiosity. Thomas wondered what kind of man it inhabited. 

"Mr. Silver. Mr...McGraw." James had always moved so quietly, despite his less-than-spare physique. "I would speak with you, Mr. McGraw, when you are finished."

Thomas scraped the bottom of the bowl clean and handed it to Silver with a smile. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Silver. After you, Captain."

He followed James back to his cabin and, when the door swung shut behind him, he leaned back against it. 

"James..." he called softly. James turned abruptly at his name and stepped up quickly, tucking his head automatically to rest his forehead against Thomas' jawline. Thomas folded his arms around his broad shoulders. "My sailor lad." 

James huffed a laugh at the old nickname, still ironically true, and Thomas wished he could see his face happy. 

Instead, Thomas lowered his head and angled it to capture a kiss. He knew they had to be silent, but he still applied his teeth to worrying James' bottom lip as he pulled away. 

As they parted, they stared at each other and Thomas wanted desperately to bear his resurrected lover down to his own bed. James clearly read this and shifted back further. "Thomas, I want nothing more right now." His voice was huskier than even the pirate growl Thomas had witnessed on deck. "But I can't, not in this place. I can't be James McGraw here. If the men should, god forbid, open the door on us, or if they see the slightest crack in Captain Flint, I lose the ship. Mayhap more." 

Thomas reached out and caressed James' knuckles. There were many new scars here. "Are the two that different?"

"They are. They have to be. I can't tell you what I—he—has done, but I will someday. If you will hear it."

Thomas searched his eyes for a time, before nodding his understanding. "And someday I will tell you about Bethlem. If you will hear it." James' eyes closed in pain. Thomas decided to steer them into safer waters, as it were. "What happens on land, joy?"

"I'll have to see to the ship and men, but I have an ally in Nassau who will see to your comfort. I think you will like her. After that... I don't know what I'll do about your supposed ransom. But for us, there's a small cottage in the interior." He hesitated then forged on. "It was Miranda's. She had a library there. And a garden, that she tended. She wasn't unhappy there. She utterly corrupted a poor priest, I understand." Thomas ducked his head and smiled. That was his wife, for certain. "You can set up there, til I can join you. Maybe I'll be able to finally put Flint aside."

Thomas drew near again to lay a hand on his cheek, fingers brushing the soft hair above his ear, and quoted, "Whither thou goest, I will go."

James' smile was sweet. 

Thomas crossed the room to a chair and, sitting, asked, "Will you tell me of your ship?"

It was the right question for James to open up, but Thomas had known that. In their time in London, James had spoken of every ship he had sailed with such pride. The same pride he spoke with now, detailing the number of sails, the lay of her lines, the singular curve of her hull. He spoke of the crew, though not his history with them. Thomas suspected that was all part of the longer story he was hesitating to tell. 

When it seemed he had covered everything, James looked into Thomas' face and, reading what he did there, changed tack. "You are welcome to my library, should you wish," he offered. 

Thomas smiled. "It's true I didn't have much leisure time for reading these past years." James' face fell into some kind of stony anger. Thomas rose to stand next to the captain's chair, laying a hand on his arm. "It is well. Have you a recommendation for me?"

James spoke to him of writings of the last several years, books he and Miranda had shared and discussed by the fireplace. He regretfully rose to assume his never-ending watch, but before he left the cabin, he turned back. 

"I haven't asked yet how you came to be here. Where were you bound?"

"As I understand it, my father paid me into some hidden home for the disgraced upper class out of the way in the colonies. Savannah, I believe."

James went rigid and Thomas sought a reason in his eyes. 

"Thomas...your father could not have sent you. Lord Hamilton is dead."

Thomas leapt to his feet, wincing at the grating of his bones at the suddenness. "James—! You are sure?"

His eyes clouded, grew hard. "He died on the end of my sword. Yes, I am quite sure." 

He threw open the door and stalked off, leaving Thomas stunned behind him. 'Perhaps this is why he doesn't wish me to meet his Captain Flint. Maybe this is who he's been.' He spared a thought for his father, vile words over the dinner table, vile words as the orderlies of Bethlem wrapped their restraints around him in his front hall. He wondered what he had said to James when Thomas wasn't there. 

No, he needed out of his head. He turned to the bookshelf and ran his hands over several of the volumes James had described. He decided against the modern works. He would let the light in Plato's cave soothe his head. 

But he craved the sun. So he took Plato from the shelf and left the cabin to climb on deck. Greeting every open stare with gentile nod, he made his way to the helm, where James was in deep discussion with a man with middling grey hair. "Captain," he greeted as he approached. 

James barely spared him an eye, but his voice was tense. "Mr. McGraw."

"I wondered if there was someplace I could sit on deck where I will not be too much in the way of operations." 

The man James had been talking to jerked his head behind him, up a set of steps. "Quarterdeck will serve." James nodded agreement almost imperceptibly. 

"Thank you." He mounted the steps and folded himself up by the rail. From here, he had a view of the water stretching before them, the scurry of the deck, and even, if he craned his neck, the movement of men in the rigging. He could not see James at the helm, but then he supposed he should not be caught gazing like a lovestruck boy at their fierce pirate captain. 

The view was beautiful, but he needed to get lost. He opened the book. 

Some time later, the shade he had sat in darkened. He looked up and there was a young man standing before him, awkwardly holding out a cup. "Compliments of the cook," he braved. 

Thomas smiled. "Thank you, Mr...?"

He cleared his throat. "No Mr., just Billy."

"Then thank you, Billy."

The man didn't move. "You're strangely at ease for being held ransom on a pirate ship."

"I got myself into this, protecting the men I sailed with before. Their lives are worth it. But too, I have followed the philosophy of taking life as it comes. If this is where I am led, I will follow without much struggle."

Billy appeared to consider this, then shrugged. "Well the men shouldn't bother you if they want their share of ransom. You need anything, I'll see to it." He turned away with a sharp nod and Thomas watched as he left and worked his way forward, checking the lay of lines and sails as he passed. 

Thomas also took the time to admire the lovely bulge of his arms threatening to split his shirt sleeves. It had been a sailor of similar build who had first captured Thomas' attention, when he had been a boy exploring the docks with his tutor, the day he realized he didn't want the things most men did. 

And here this one was, bringing him tea. Crude stuff, he found, sipping it, but familiar enough for him to relax. And in the meantime, James had come to stand by the rail of the lower deck. There, Thomas could watch him without seeming to be watching anything in particular. He found himself, oddly, quite content...

The next thing he knew, there were arms lifting him to his feet. "Get him to my cabin, Billy, he can lie there. On deck, it's a hazard." That was James. Thomas parted his lips to call to him, but he surfaced through sleep haze enough to remember this was not the time or place. 

"Mind the book," he said instead and he thought he heard James laugh. 

The man beside him just said, "Easy, Mr. McGraw," and eased him down from the deck until he was once more in the captain's cabin. Thomas let himself drift properly to sleep then. 

The next days followed similarly. Whispered conversations and stolen touches with James in the captain's cabin, meals beside him there, reading on deck. Billy (the bosun, Thomas had learned) seemed to have adopted him and was solicitous in checking on him. At the same time, he continued to pry conversationally and Thomas easily deflected, hiding his mirth. Someone should teach that boy subtlety. He noticed too that he could often be found speaking in low voices with the curious cook. Thomas wondered at the politics behind the rough facade of the crew. These two were perhaps party leaders in this deranged democracy, though they seemed to be firmly enough on Flint's side. 

Billy was also the only man apart from James to come into the Captain's cabin and wake him from his screaming nightmares. Thomas had to remind himself, that first time, that they were nothing to be ashamed of. They were the result of something that had been done to him, no more or less than the raw skin and scars on his wrists. 

The rest of the crew were civil, but gave him a wide berth. 

He had been nearly a week on the ship when a voice from the tops called "Land!"

He stood from his seat on the quarterdeck and saw Mr. de Groot hand James his glass at the rail. 

After a squint, James turned to him and called, "Nassau, Mr. McGraw. You may wish to start packing." A laugh rose from the crew, but Thomas merely nodded to him. He knew James would understand the brightness of his eyes, as he understood it in his. 

Thomas stayed below and out of the way as they approached the island. Only when he heard the groan of men putting the gigs overboard did he emerge on deck. 

The captain was saying to Billy, "We'll go on the first launch. I'd rather we get him to Miss Guthrie before word of ransom arises."

Billy nodded, but seemed hesitant. "Do you want me to join you?" 

"No, I need you where you are. Get the boats launched, pick the first watch, then do whatever the hell you want." He noticed Thomas standing to the side. "This is your ride, Mr. McGraw, come on." The only luggage he carried was a canvas sack with books James had insisted he take to read. 

When they reached the beach, Thomas looked around in wonder. So this was the Caribbean and Nassau, the jewel he had sought to manage from afar. James grabbed his arm in a tight grip and half-pulled him in the noisome direction of town. 

They stopped in a well lit bar, where James strode up to a dark-skinned man and asked to see Miss Guthrie. He had told Thomas all about his unlikely ally on the ship, but Thomas was still surprised to see that the woman in question was such a young, pretty girl. "Come in, Captain," she called. Thomas was by now used to the penetrating stares that sought to understand who and what he was, so he gave her a bland smile and followed James into her office. 

Miss Guthrie made her way around the table, taking her time before she sat so they were waiting on her. Thomas approved; she clearly understood how to use such tricks to maintain the upper hand in a discussion. He had used them himself, in the House of Lords. "Who is this?" she asked James, somehow seeming to discount his presence even while questioning it. 

"Calls himself Thomas McGraw. A lord's son who offered his ransom as collateral against the taking the prize's crew."

She arched an eyebrow."'Calls himself?'" James returned her look with a raised eyebrow of his own. When she looked at Thomas, he followed James' lead. "Fine," she submitted with disgust. "So what is the deal? Who are we sending the request to?"

"I have a name for you, Miss Guthrie," Thomas interjected, "but not much of a location. If I write a letter, do you have an agent who can deliver it?" 

"That depends."

"There's a farm outside Savannah, Georgia." 

She regarded him. "I should be able to find someone, if you-" she turned to Flint "-would lend use of your ship." He nodded. "Is there anything else?"

"Mr. McGraw has been ill. I would appreciate if he could stay here for a time to recuperate, have a few decent meals. He won't need to be restrained or guarded; he will stay in town until the time comes for him to move."

She nodded. "You can have one of the rooms here. I'll ask Eme to look in on you."

Eleanor Guthrie seemed like an strong, efficient leader. Thomas found he liked her already. James seemed to like her as well, for he dropped his rough captain's voice and said gratefully, "Thank you, Eleanor. I appreciate this." His eyes darted between the two others in the room. "You should speak to Mr. McGraw of our Nassau sometime, I think you'll find it an interesting discussion." 

Thomas was sure his amusement was in his face, because Eleanor looked suddenly between them and demanded, "Why do I believe you two are sharing a joke that I am not?" 

A lesser man would have ducked his head under her ire, but James met her look steadily. "Forgive me. I only meant that he shares a common goal with you and I as regarding the future here."

After a moment, Miss Guthrie nodded, then crossed to the door. She asked someone outside, "Would you call Eme?"

She walked back behind her desk, but leaned on the back of her chair instead of sitting. "One more thing. I need to know _everything_ going on in my establishment. Who are you?" Her demand was sharp steel, a blade being drawn from its sheath. 

James rose slowly to his feet, loomed over the desk. "You've heard the story that a witch pledged my soul to the devil?"

"Yes, I believe I have met her." She refused to be intimidated. Thomas' respect rose several notches. 

He smiled without mirth. "Meet the devil."

That growl could strike fear into any heart, but it made Thomas want to sit at Master's feet and beg. If he had known James possessed that voice, he would have insisted on him using it years ago. 

While Miss Guthrie was still staring at them, stunned wheels turning, there came a knock on the door and a small African girl looked in. "Miss Guthrie?" 

"Would you show Mr. McGraw here to a room? And bring a supper up to him." 

Thomas smiled at Miss Guthrie and then stood to follow the girl. "Thank you, my dear," he acknowledged as he followed her out of the room. A glance at James was all he needed to understand that they still had business, but that he would undoubtedly find him at his door soon enough. 

The girl escorted Thomas past doors until she reached a particular one. "I will bring supper. Do you require anything more?"

"No, thank you, Eme." He smiled at her again. Her demeanor was quiet and subservient, but there was a calculation in her eyes that suggested his actions would be reported to some interested party somewhere. 

When she closed the door behind her, Thomas could have wept to behold an actual bed. He sat down on it and removed his shoes, sighing at the relief. The walk across the beach and through town should have been a lark, had he been in his condition of years past. A locked hospital cell and a rolling ship, with meager rations in both, had taken a toll on his body. Had he not been able to see it in the ill fit of his clothes, the worried solemnity of James' face when he looked below his neck would have told all.

He had no notion of how much time, if any at all, had passed when he was startled awake by a knock on his door. "Mr. McGraw?" Ah, supper. 

He stood, shaking his clothes out, and opened the door to the young girl carrying a tray of food. Stew, hot. The smell started his mouth watering instantly. 

He thanked her and saw her to the door before falling on the food, but he had only a few mouthfuls when there was another knock at the door. 

"It's me."

"Come in, Captain." He stood as James entered, but the other man gestured impatiently for him to remain sitting. James sat next to him instead, close enough that his hard thigh pressed into Thomas' own. Thomas laid a hand on his knee while he continued to eat with the other. 

When he was finished, he sat for a moment, then took James' hand and lifted it to his lips. "My truest love," he whispered, meeting James' eyes. "I should never have doubted that we would find each other again."

"I never thought we would," James said bluntly. "We were told you hanged yourself." Thomas' hand tightened on James', though he suspected it was more painful on his own abused hand. "I thought I would always regret not going back for you."

"I am glad you did not. I put my wife into your hands to keep you both safe."

"And I failed you." 

"I want to hear your story, James, I want to hear Miranda's, but not tonight. Tonight, may I...?" He raised James' hand to his mouth once more, but met his eyes with his need and intention clear in his own. 

James sighed out a moan and closed his eyes. "Thomas, I need to see to the ship, the men will talk..."

"Does it need to be this minute?"

"Thomas..."

"James." It was a command. 

And he had always loved watching James obey. 

James surged forward to capture his mouth in a bruising kiss. Thomas dug his fingers into James' sides, goading him.

With passion, desperation, and joy, the two men came together there. They relearned each other with James' hands gentle on Thomas' protruding ribs and Thomas' lips on James' scars and tattoos. And if either wept in the afterglow, his tears mingled with the other's. 

Afterwards, Thomas whispered poetry and sweet nothings to James' freckled skin, until James pulled away and began to dress. 

"I should see to the ship," he whispered guiltily. "I'll come in the morning."

"Stay the night," Thomas argued. Then, quieter, "Please, my love."

James' kiss then was soft, and sweet enough that Thomas felt himself sinking. "I do have to go, joy. But I will see the ship, have supper in one of the more notorious establishments to make myself seen, then slip away back to you."

Thomas smiled at him, his eyes crinkling even as he felt his lids growing heavy. "Do you so swear."

"Come hell or high water, lover, I will not be parted from you again." He finished dressing and, with a final kiss and a surreptitious reconnaissance of the hallway, was gone. 

 

James had returned late at night and slept curled into Thomas' body, but left again in the morning. Thomas understood, though he itched for James to stay beside him. 

Instead, he spent the next day wandering Nassau. Mr. Scott, Eleanor's trusted man and oftentime guardian, James had said, accompanied him through the town after stopping him at the door. But Thomas gathered that it was more for his protection from the rough types in town than for any expectation of an escape attempt. He'd been surprised that James had told her that Thomas was anything more than a captive, but he seemed to hold the girl in high regard. 

The people of town–pirates, purveyors, and ladies of easy morals all–seemed as rough as one would expect from a pirate colony. He couldn't help wondering wistfully what they would do if they were given farms and shovels put in their hands.

James didn't come to him that day or the next, but on the third day, he led Thomas out to where a pair of horses were tied. 

"Can you still ride?"

"I should like nothing better," Thomas promised, his fingers grazing James' elbow as he passed him. 

It was a long ride, but Thomas enjoyed the wind in his hair and the feeling of the horse under him coming alive as he broke into a gallop. He suspected he would have saddle sores if they rode much further. 

At length, they came to the interior of the island, which resembled nothing so much as a small English town with cottages well cared for. Nothing could be further from the town of Nassau. They stopped in front of one house and when Thomas glanced at James, he saw a distant look, as if he was seeing something that wasn't there. Or someone. This would be Miranda's house, then. 

He felt the pang of loss all over again and slid from his horse, wincing at the jarring landing. He tied the reins to the hitching post and walked to the door. 

James was close behind him, so close he could feel the heat of his body through the stifling humidity. The house smelled like it had been shut up for some time. Broken furniture and pieces littered the floor and Thomas, taken aback, asked James, "Have you been robbed?"

James' eyes were wet and his lips practically white. "No. I did this. After."

Thomas turned and pulled James into his chest, letting himself grieve at the same time. After those years thinking they were both dead, Miranda's death shouldn't feel like this fresh a wound. But it did. 

Eventually, he pulled away and began to explore. Her bookshelves were intact and he ran his fingers across the spines. Some of them he believed to have been from his own library that had been in London. A few pots of color lay upended on her dressing table, though so much less than she had ever had as Lady Hamilton. 

From another room, James called, "In here, Thomas."

Following his voice, he found an open pantry with a burlap sack. James was unwrapping the burlap and he found it had been swaddling their portrait. He and Miranda. Painted on the occasion of their marriage. How he had loved his wife. 

Now it was James turn to comfort Thomas. He pulled him into the bedroom, her bedroom. Her and James' bedroom? James laid him down on the sheets, but they smelled musty and not at all like the scent he had known on his wife. 

After some time, Thomas stirred. "Did you stay here often?" 

"Not as often as I should have. When we'd be tied up for some time, Mr. Ga— there would be a man who would know to find me here."

"You slept in this bed?"

"I did. With your wife."

"Did the two of you share what you did in London?"

"Yes...and no. It could never have been the same as London. London was about passion and a beautiful woman who knew what she wanted. Here, we both tried to imagine you between us and we grieved that you weren't there."

Thomas squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to think of himself as a ghost come between the loved ones he gave to each other. 

"Will you hear my confession, Thomas?" James' voice was quiet. Afraid. 

"I will. And I will forgive you all."

James began to talk. From his confrontation with Admiral Hennessey and Lord Alfred Hamilton to Miranda's last stand and his period of madness. Thomas had, at some point, gathered James into his arms and held on through it all. 

"Ego te absolvo," he whispered, when James fell quiet. He felt the breath shudder from his lover's lungs. 

He then loosened the thong from his James' hair and began to gently card through it. It was shorter than it had been in London and the lamp light illuminated the odd grey streak in it. James was melting into the touch, as he used to. 

"One thing you haven't explained," Thomas broke the silence with, "was your end goal. Once Nassau was locked down, with its merchants and farmers, what was the infamous Captain Flint going to do? Settle down in the interior with the mysterious Mrs. Barlow? Move onto the next colony? Fade away into obscurity?"

James shook his head. "I never got close enough to allow myself to wonder."

"Then what do you intend to do now?"

James turned on him a small smile. "Will you help me to secure Nassau's future, my lord?"

Thomas might not have had the answers to many questions at the time, but he knew this one. "No."

James jolted, startled. "No? This was your plan! We were doing this for you!"

"Lieutenant McGraw and Lord Thomas Hamilton made plans to shape the world as they liked. It was aspirational. It was bold. It was courageous and the right thing to do. But we are neither of those men anymore. I have not been Lord Thomas Hamilton for seven years and I never will be again. This project took everything from him. I've just gotten some of it back and I won't, I can't, risk that again."

James looked away from him. "I need to think about this. I need time, Thomas, I'm sorry."

Thomas resumed petting James' hair. "It's all alright, my love. I've had seven years to come to terms with all I lost. You had seven years of little to do but fight for it. Come, tell me about the tangled web of Nassau."

They stayed in the cottage through the night. That gave them time and distance from Nassau with which they could share their stories. So too did it mean that they could make love at the slowest, gentlest pace imaginable. It meant Thomas could make James cry out in just that way he remembered. 

And later, it meant Thomas had the time to put idea into word to say, "I've had a thought about my ransom..."


	2. The Ransoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Joy" as endearment absolutely comes from the Patrick O'Brien canon between Jack and Stephen because I love me some Age of Sail.

_Mr. Oglethorpe,_

_I beg your indulgence, sir. I am the waylaid Thomas Hamilton and I ask a boon of you. Fear not for my wellbeing; the pirates I have been granted the hospitality of are men of greater honor than my family._

_Allow me propose a mutually beneficial arrangement. If you forward with this messenger a sum of £, I would be willing to burn the missive penned to the holders of my late father's estate, detailing my current situation. I would not contradict your message of my safe arrival and you will continue to receive your yearly maintenance fee for my confinement._

_My messenger can leave now with your answer or can return for it in three days time. Do as you will._

_Your servant,_

_T. Hamilton_

James looked over Thomas' shoulder to read the quite singular letter begging ransom and blackmailing both. "Is it well?" 

The Walrus was anchored in a small cove down the coast from the port at Savannah. Miss Guthrie had sent her man on board and he had returned from the city only that morning with rumor and gossip about Mr. Oglethorpe and his unusually guarded plantation. He would now seek out the plantation itself with Thomas' letter in hand. 

"It is well," James assured him, pressing his lips to Thomas' temple. 

And it was, with a sea chest containing the sum requested arriving at the ship a week later. It came with a letter that had been instructed to no hands but "T.H." and upon reading it, Thomas passed it to James. It said merely that Oglethorpe agreed to their conditions, with the knowledge that he would expose Thomas utterly should the other letter be posted. 

James, however, read it and told the men, "If the ransom is all there, we are to bring him to a family farm near Deepwater Cove. You know it?" he asked Thomas. 

He admired James' acting skills. "I've never been there myself, but my mother's sister and my cousin Jameson live there." James' lip barely twitched. 

Then the captain turned and strode off to his cabin. After a brief exchange of glances, several of the crew followed. Thomas went with them. They found him shuffling through charts until he reached the one he was looking for. He examined it with a keen eye until he jabbed his finger at a point. "Here's the cove, a few hours' sail south. The lawyer said the place is a good few miles inland, but we'll have to move canny in case he's written ahead to warn them."

"Who're you taking?" Billy asked. 

James shook his head. "Just us two. Since McGraw is traveling light, we'll move faster just two." Thomas noticed the mulish expression on Billy's face. He would stay on deck, since it looked like the young bosun would be keen to argue. 

To diffuse the current situation, he spoke up. "You have my gratitude, gentlemen, for your hospitality and your patience so far. It seems I won't be imposing much longer." He retired to his usual seat on deck. 

He didn't get the chance to speak to James again until they were anchored at Deepwater. "Are you ready?" James murmured, coming up beside him at the rail.

"To find home? Certainly."

They left Billy beside the gig on the beach. James had chosen this spot for the lack of settlement on its coast, while it was still near enough to farmland. 

They hired horses at the first farm and cantered toward town. 

Thomas caught a sidelong look from James as they rode side-by-side. "Have you considered how you'll introduce yourself? You know no one would take you for a man of the earth." 

Thomas looked down, eyes crinkling at the corners. "A bank manager, perhaps. Something boring and useless enough to not draw undue interest." He hesitated. "If you'll allow, James, I would like to keep your surname. It is superior to my own, in that it is yours to share."

James reined up short and Thomas wheeled his mount around to come beside him again. James' knuckles were white on the reins. "Nothing would please me more, joy. I would have given it to you years ago, if the world had not been against us." He stood in his stirrups and reached out, closing the distance between them to kiss Thomas as full of hope as if they stood in front of an altar. 

Then his horse sidled away and he had to lower himself to avoid being unseated completely. They continued on towards town, occasionally sharing smiles without shame between them. 

 

Once they reached town, Thomas charmed the colonists with his impeccable manners and his story about needing a quiet cottage out of the way while he recovered from a long illness. The women fussed over Tom, while his cousin Jameson made himself popular by sharing the news out of Savannah. 

Their performance paid off with news of a piece of land with a humble cottage, out by someone's neighbor's brother's farm. Several introductions later, they found themselves being shown the property. 

"It's perfect," Thomas whispered to James when the neighbor's brother ducked inside to be sure the place was of a condition to be shown. It did seem to fit their needs; two small bedrooms (for propriety's sake), a modest fireplace in the larger room that served as both kitchen and sitting room. He could tell James' eye was critical, but the way he laid his hand to the wood and wore that look on his face spoke of strategies and improvements to come. 

With proper exclamation on its qualities to Mr. Tims, Thomas took possession of it at once. James promised that a merchant sailor like himself would have no trouble bringing furnishings in. 

Tims left, likely to spread the news of the new tenant, and Thomas and James were left in their new home. Thomas crowded James against the door once the hoofbeats had retreated, and kissed him nearly senseless. 

James chuckled, eyes soft as they regarded his lover when they parted, but he looked at the sun hanging low and said, "I'd better be going. Settle in as you will and I'll be home soon."

"You had better," Thomas replied, only half in jest. 

James clutched his arms in an overfirm grip. "You have been restored to me after all. There is no mortal force that could keep me from this door." He turned sharply, as if afraid that one more look would freeze him in place, and left. Thomas was alone as he heard the hoofbeats carry his truest love away. 

All he had left with him was a satchel carrying spare clothes, a too humble library, and James' share of the ransom.

He prayed James would not be gone long. As it was, even if he returned tomorrow, it would have been entirely too long.

 

Five months, James had guessed. Five months of making the house into a home for him to come back to. A difficult task, considering how much James was supposed to be bringing him. Made further difficult by the not infrequent nightmares in which he awoke from a beautiful dream to the reality of Bethlem. A small mirror showed him the dark circles under his eyes. 

But it also showed him some color coming to his skin, for he had been spending time out in the sun. Mr. Tims had loaned him some tools with the knowledge of how to plant a proper vegetable plot and Thomas felt strength returning to his bones as he worked the land. He was sure James would have things to say about farming properly, but he needed the food and he needed something to do. 

If he sat still, waiting for his Odysseus to return from the sea, he would go mad. 

If he wasn't already anyway. Occasionally he had to pull his sanity together strand by strand when he awoke to his own voice shouting for James or Miranda's help. Several times Mrs. Tims had looked in on him and found him cowering in a corner of the kitchen. On these occasions, she bustled him outside to sit on one of the wooden porch chairs he had treated himself to while she boiled him some tea inside. Thomas gathered that James had had a word with the good Mr. Tims before he left. Honestly, it was as endearing as it was tiring. 

Those were just the bad days, though, and he did have more good days than those. By day, he worked the garden and swept out the dirt he tracked inside. He read voraciously. He made lists on parchment of items the house needed, repairs the house needed. He wished he could do something himself, especially on rainy nights where all he could do was place a bucket under the maddening leaks, but neither a lord's son nor a mental patient were given that sort of training. 

 

Four months since Thomas moved in and James left, it was harvesting time for what vegetables as his modest garden could yield. He had two baskets beside him as he pulled them from the earth, one for their house and one for the Tims in thanks. His hands were covered in dirt, but he couldn't regret it. In a way, it was a prouder occupation than all the earths he had tried to shift as a lord. 

This was the quietly glowing condition he found himself in when he heard the slow plod of horse and cart approaching. He straightened his back and shaded his eyes (really must get one of those ridiculous straw brimmed hats, he thought) but he could not make out the driver at this distance. 

Heart rising in his throat, he forced himself to crouch once more to his harvest. It did not distract him as the hoofbeats grew closer and finally he abandoned his work and stood waiting, leaning on his shovel. 

Waiting for James, who had come home to him. 

As soon as the cart drew nigh, the driver leapt to the ground and, after quickly hitching the horse, James came to Thomas' arms. He did not hesitate before embracing him and burying his face in his neck. 

"Thomas..." he breathed. 

"I'm here, joy. Welcome home." 

When they drew apart, Thomas reached up to stroke James' chin, which was shockingly bare. With his red hair tied back, his face cleanshaven, and the animus of Captain Flint fled, he looked very much like the young lieutenant he had fallen for, swiftly and deeply, over late night arguments. 

"It is done?" he queried. 

"Captain Flint will be seen no more in Nassau," James affirmed. "They woke up one morning to find him and all his personal effects had vanished into the sea."

"Leaving only the ghost story," Thomas murmured, remembering the tale James told him as they formed their plans: 'Let me tell you why I called myself Flint...'

James took Thomas' hands and chuckled at the condition they were in, drawing a blush to Thomas' cheeks. "There is water inside for washing," Thomas invited. 

"I don't care," James smirked, cupping his hands around Thomas' face and kissing him there amongst the lands that were their own. It tasted of freedom, of hope, of a future and Thomas imagined the future had the _Eliza Hart_ made it to Savannah unmolested. Would their paths still have converged, had that happened? 

"What shape the hand of fate?" Thomas wondered softly. 

James' eyes crinkled and he said, "You are thinking too much, my lord."

"I am, aren't I?" he laughed. "We should bring in what you've brought before it rains. I apologize for the condition, but when a house has two masters, one alone cannot make of it a home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Feel free to chat with or follow me on tumblr at [KelAlannan](Kelalannan.tumblr.com) for Black Sails, tall ships, and other sundries.

**Author's Note:**

> Come follow me on tumblr at [KelAlannan](Kelalannan.tumblr.com) for Black Sails, tall ships, and other sundries. Especially if you're curious about a Flint/Thomas Mer AU.


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